The Roman Mysteries Complete Collection

by Lawrence, Caroline

  Lupus quickly straddled the boy’s waist and pinned his wrists to the slippery marble. Then he ripped the bone whistle from around the boy’s neck and tossed it onto the sandy track below. In a moment it would be trampled to splinters by the horses’ pounding hooves.

  ‘Let go of me, you brat!’ snarled the curly-haired boy and he tried to spit at Lupus.

  ‘Ngheee!’ cried Lupus, trying to say: Who?

  ‘Ngeee!’ mocked the boy. ‘Ngee, ngee, ngee!’

  Lupus shuffled forward so that his knees were pinning down the boy’s arms, and he reached for his wax tablet. He would have to write his question. He hoped the boy could read.

  Astonished by this strange behaviour, the boy stopped struggling and stared as Lupus began to write on his wax tablet: WHO DO YOU WORK

  But suddenly Lupus was being pushed up and over, back into the water. He rose up spluttering and cursing, still clutching his stylus, just in time to see the boy jump down from the euripus wall.

  Lupus was up after him in a second. There were no stairs here but it was not a long drop and the hot sandy track was relatively soft. The ground was vibrating and Lupus turned his head to see half a dozen chariots rounding the meta in a pack. This was their last lap, and the charioteers were whipping the horses that thundered towards them.

  The curly-haired boy was only a few feet away, drops of water flying off his hair as he turned his head wildly this way and that. Then, ignoring the oncoming chariots, he started towards the stands on the far side of the track.

  ‘Nnnngh!’ Lupus tried to call out a warning as the boy ran out in front of a dozen horses.

  A quarter of a million Romans rose to their feet as the boy in blue darted forward, then stopped to let a chariot thunder past and then ran forward again, darting, dodging, dancing. Lupus was just about to run after him when a cry resounded across the arena and Lupus stared in horror.

  The curly-haired boy had tumbled under the hooves of the outside horse of a pair of the Whites.

  Jonathan had just reached the curved end of the hippodrome when a universal cry made him look towards the racecourse.

  ‘That poor little boy!’ cried a woman, and sobbed into her husband’s shoulder. ‘He’ll be trampled to a paste.’

  Jonathan’s heart seemed to stop. Was it Lupus? The cloud of dust left in the horses’ wake was settling but he could see no bloody smear on the sand.

  ‘It’s all right, dove,’ said the man. ‘He’s all right. He survived!’

  And now the dust had cleared enough for Jonathan to see a boy in blue limping into one of the arched entrances beneath the stands. Another boy in a tunic of the Greens ran after him. Lupus.

  But now two guards were running towards Lupus from Jonathan’s end of the arena. Jonathan could not hear their cries – for the crowd was cheering as a Red chariot crossed the finish line – but he could tell by the way they shook their fists that they were angry.

  Lupus obviously saw the guards, too, for he hesitated, glanced at the arch under which the boy had disappeared, then turned and ran back towards the carceres.

  Jonathan watched until Lupus disappeared through the arch. Only then did he allow himself a long sigh of relief. His friend was safe.

  ‘Let me go!’ cried Flavia Gemina. But although Acutus’s fingers were plump and moist, his grip on her wrists was like iron.

  ‘I don’t think so,’ chuckled Acutus. ‘Not until you tell us what you’re doing here.’ He was balding, and his long eyelashes and heavy eyelids gave him the sleepy look of a bear roused from hibernation.

  ‘Who’s this?’ said Mars, coming up to them. There was blood on the knuckles of his right hand and also on his tunic.

  Flavia looked around desperately. There were a quarter of a million people at the races today. How could this corridor be so completely deserted? ‘I was just looking for the latrine,’ she lisped in her little-girl voice.

  ‘No, you weren’t,’ drawled Acutus. ‘I saw you spying on us earlier.’ There was a dangerous gleam in his heavy-lidded eyes.

  ‘I want pater!’ wailed Flavia, trying to make the tears come.

  ‘I’ve got a daughter your age,’ said Acutus, ‘and I can tell false tears.’ He twisted her wrist hard and Flavia gasped in pain. ‘See?’ he said. ‘Now those are real tears.’

  ‘What shall we do with her, patron?’ said Mars.

  ‘Take her to Mamilia.’ Acutus relaxed his grip on Flavia. ‘This one should fetch an excellent price.’

  ‘You can’t!’ gasped Flavia. ‘I’m freeborn.’ She was about to show him her bulla when a voice behind her called out, ‘Flavia! What are you doing here? The Emperor wants to see you at once.’

  ‘Sisyphus!’ cried Flavia.

  ‘Excuse me, gentlemen!’ Sisyphus stepped smartly forward and grasped Flavia’s free hand. ‘You’re in big trouble, young lady! Keeping Titus waiting. Come on!’ Acutus and Mars were staring wide-mouthed at Sisyphus’s umbrella hat and did not protest as he pulled Flavia down the dim corridor.

  She was expecting an iron grip on her shoulder at any moment but at last they emerged into the heat and brilliance of the September afternoon and the buzzing crowds of the hippodrome.

  ‘Oh, Sisyphus!’ sobbed Flavia. ‘Praise Juno you found me!’

  ‘Shhh!’ he hissed. ‘Keep walking and don’t look back. They’re following us. We’re going to have to go straight up to the Emperor in the pulvinar.’

  ‘Did Titus really summon me?’

  ‘Of course not.’

  ‘But he won’t just see me unannounced!’

  ‘You’re right. He probably won’t. But even if he doesn’t, Acutus wouldn’t abduct you from under Titus’s nose. What were you thinking? I told you not to interfere!’

  ‘I’m so sorry, Sisyphus. I just wanted to find out if Urbanus owed Acutus money.’

  ‘How? By asking Please, sir, does the Greens’ head trainer owe you boatloads of money?’ Flavia giggled hysterically and Sisyphus shook his head.

  ‘Here we are,’ he said, as they reached the large roofed box set into the stands of the arena. ‘Let’s hope he remembers you.’ Sisyphus turned to the handsome Praetorian guard standing beside a marble column and said in his most imperious voice: ‘Flavia Gemina to see the Emperor Titus Flavius Vespasianus, please.’

  Lunchtime entertainment at the Circus Maximus was a hunt of hounds and hares down on the race track. Despite this diverting event, most Romans had gone to snack bars or baths outside the Circus to eat something more substantial than sausages wrapped in cabbage leaves. Some had assigned slaves to keep their places, others had left their seats empty, but a few had brought picnic lunches and ate these on the benches.

  Jonathan mounted the hot wooden steps of the upper tiers, pretending to scan the rows for an imaginary friend. He was still listening for the sound of flute or whistle, but all he could hear was his own stomach growling. On the highest tier opposite the meta, he stopped to let his breath return to normal. He found a place in the cool shade beneath the roof of the colonnade, then leaned against a column, closed his eyes and let the murmur of the half-empty arena wash over him.

  Suddenly he heard something which made him open his eyes and stand up straight. A man two rows down and to the right had just mentioned Urbanus. Jonathan leaned forward and rested his elbows on the wooden railing and pretended to watch the animal hunt. But all his concentration was focused on the couple below him: a man and a woman. They were sitting under a blue silk parasol which hid their faces from his view.

  ‘No, it’s true,’ the man was saying. ‘They say he and his family left Jerusalem ten years ago, when Titus was about to besiege it.’

  ‘But I heard he wasn’t married,’ said the woman. ‘My sister says he’s one of the most eligible bachelors in Rome.’

  ‘Eligible, perhaps, but he’s still mourning his wife and children.’

  ‘Ahh! A widower!’

  ‘Yes. It’s a tragic tale. He brought his wife and children out of Jerusalem with h
im, only to lose all four in the fire last February. He was out of the city, on business, but they all perished. Apparently,’ added the man, ‘the oldest boy was only fourteen. He wanted to be a chariot driver.’

  ‘Oh, the poor man!’ said the woman, and Jonathan saw her hand appear beyond the rim of her parasol as she made the sign against evil. ‘Even so,’ she added, ‘perhaps my sister could comfort him after his loss.’

  ‘I don’t think she should get involved with him,’ said the man. ‘Urbanus may be rich and powerful, but don’t forget: he’s also a Jew.’

  Jonathan found Flavia and Lupus waiting outside an empty stall.

  ‘Where’s Pegasus?’ he asked. ‘And Nubia?’

  ‘We don’t know,’ said Flavia. ‘A groom told us Pegasus was here a short time ago but we haven’t seen him. We just got here. I was nearly captured by the Patron of Gambling,’ she added.

  Jonathan raised his eyebrows. ‘What happened?’

  Flavia gave them a quick account of her meeting with Acutus. ‘His men are brutes. If you can’t pay what you owe, they beat you like a carpet! He caught me, but Sisyphus came to my rescue and while Acutus was watching he took me to see the Emperor. By the way, Titus sends his regards to you and your mother.’

  ‘You saw the Emperor?’ asked Jonathan.

  Flavia nodded. ‘Sisyphus and I went to see him and he granted me an audience.’

  ‘Why did you go to see him?’

  ‘To prove I have friends in high places so that Acutus won’t sell me as a slave. Or something worse.’ She shuddered. ‘How about the two of you? Lupus, why are you damp?’

  Lupus pointed out towards the euripus and gave a rueful shrug. He borrowed Flavia’s tablet to write what had happened.

  ‘An underground shrine?’ she said, reading over his shoulder. ‘That must be the one Urbanus mentioned, to the god called Consus. Why didn’t I think of that? It’s the perfect place to hide! And you think the boy with the whistle was one of the twin beggars who led us to Sagitta three days ago?’

  Lupus nodded emphatically and wrote: WHAT IF THEY AREN’T REALLY BEGGARS?

  ‘Great Juno’s peacock, Lupus!’ cried Flavia. ‘You’re right. What if those twin beggar-boys are the culprits? No, wait! What if they’re working for the culprit? There are so many stable boys and sparsores around here. Put a boy in a faction colour and nobody would look twice.’

  ‘It works for Lupus,’ said Jonathan.

  ‘It certainly does,’ said Flavia, and thought for a moment. ‘We still need to figure out who the culprit is. Who’s giving them their orders. Did you discover anything, Jonathan? Any clues?’

  ‘Not really. But I overheard some people talking about Urbanus. He’s Jewish all right. He and his family escaped the siege of Jerusalem – just like my family – and they ended up here in Italia.’ Jonathan stared down at his feet. ‘But then last winter he lost them all in the fire. A wife and three children.’

  ‘Oh Jonathan! How terrible.’

  Jonathan nodded miserably.

  ‘They must have been in the part of the stables that was burnt. Maybe that’s why Urbanus was asking God’s forgiveness,’ she added. ‘Maybe he blames himself for their deaths.’ She glanced at Jonathan. ‘People often blame themselves for things that aren’t their fault.’

  ‘Maybe.’ Jonathan shrugged.

  ‘Where is Pegasus?’ said a boy’s voice behind them.

  Jonathan and his friends turned to see a young auriga.

  ‘Scopas?’ said Flavia. ‘Is that you? You look so different wearing a helmet.’

  The young Greek gave a nod, his hazel eyes bright beneath the leather visor. ‘Where is Pegasus?’ he said again.

  ‘Isn’t he with you?’

  ‘No. I was getting dressed to race in the great Circus Maximus.’

  ‘We just got here,’ said Jonathan. ‘We haven’t seen Pegasus. Or Nubia.’

  ‘But they are harnessing the other horses now,’ said Scopas, looking into the empty stall. ‘Nubia said she would bring Pegasus when he was ready.’

  ‘They weren’t by the carceres,’ said Jonathan. ‘Or outside the pavilion. And they’re certainly not in here—’

  ‘Jonathan!’ cried Flavia, clutching his arm. ‘What if the culprit’s abducted them?’

  ‘Excuse me, sir,’ said Flavia to a guard near the entrance of the Greens’ pavilion. ‘Have you seen any horses leave here in the last hour?’

  The guard grinned down at her. ‘Dozens,’ he said. ‘I’ve seen dozens leaving on their way back to the Campus Martius. Seen dozens arriving, as well. What’s the matter? Lost your horse?’

  ‘He isn’t lost. We think he’s been abducted, and our friend, too!’

  The guard’s grin faded. ‘Well, now, young miss. That’s a serious accusation. You think I’d allow someone to steal a horse?’

  ‘We’re sure it wasn’t your fault, sir,’ said Jonathan quickly. ‘We just want to find our friend Nubia. We think she was with Pegasus.’

  ‘Pegasus?’

  ‘The dark brown stallion with a flaxen mane and tail,’ said Flavia.

  ‘Oh, him! He left a short time ago.’

  ‘Was a dark-skinned girl with him?’ asked Flavia. ‘About my age?’

  ‘That’s right,’ said the guard. ‘The girl who found Sagitta. She said she was taking him for a drink. But now you mention it—’ he scratched his head ‘—I saw them taking him away. Back to the stables, I presume.’

  ‘They were taking him back?’ Flavia swallowed. ‘How many of them were there?’

  ‘Just the two of them.’

  ‘Two men?’

  ‘No.’ The guard looked confused. ‘The girl who found Sagitta and that one-legged beggar. He was with her.’

  ‘One-Leg was with her?’ Jonathan glanced at the others.

  ‘That’s right. That one-legged beggar who always hangs around here.’

  ‘Oh, no,’ breathed Flavia, ‘What if the twins aren’t the only ones pretending to be beggars? What if the one-legged man is pretending, too? What if he’s really the culprit?’ She turned to the boys in horror. ‘And what if he’s just abducted Pegasus and Nubia?!’

  Nubia led her beloved Pegasus away from the Circus Maximus.

  Half an hour before, she had plaited the last ribbon into his flaxen tail and had taken him for a drink at the fountain. The swifts shrieking overhead reminded her of the horrible naufragium earlier in the day, and she shuddered. She wished with all her heart that there was something she could do to stop Pegasus running the next race.

  As if by magic, the one-legged beggar appeared. His beard and hair were clean and glossy, as if he had just come from the baths.

  ‘Hello, sir.’ She clapped her hands softly together and bent her knees in respect.

  ‘That’s a beautiful horse. He must be the pride of the stables.’

  ‘Yes,’ said Nubia miserably. ‘He is now in alpha team.’

  The beggar’s eyes widened. ‘This horse is going to race with the alpha team? That’s a great honour.’ He gave her a keen look, then said: ‘You don’t seem very happy about it.’

  Nubia stared at him. None of the others had guessed her fears, but he knew. He knew!

  ‘I wish Pegasus will not race,’ she whispered. ‘What if he falls and his legs crackle in the wheels and they must cut his throat and drag him off the track with hooks? I could not bear it!’ She pressed her face against the stallion’s neck to stifle a sob.

  ‘Then why don’t you do something noble?’ said the beggar. ‘Take him away from here and set him free.’

  She turned her head to look at him. It was as if he had read her thoughts.

  ‘Do you want me to help you?’ he said, then added: ‘Your kindness to me deserves a reward.’

  Nubia took a deep breath, closed her eyes, and nodded. Her heart was pounding like a drum.

  ‘Then here’s what we’ll do. I’ll go talk to those two guards. When they turn their backs, quickly take the horse up the stairs of
that little temple and right out the other side. Then go straight up the steep, paved street opposite. Once you round the bend, go slowly. I’ll catch up. I know a place we can take him.’

  And so here she was, leading a priceless racehorse up a hill away from the Forum Boarium. Her feet grew heavier and heavier, and a wave of nausea washed over her. Was she doing the right thing?

  Two men coming down the road glanced curiously at her, but continued on their way.

  A moment later the beggar appeared beside her, using his crutches to swing himself up the steep hill. ‘Don’t stop,’ he gasped. ‘Carry on. Quickly, before anybody asks us what we’re doing.’

  Nubia’s heart thumped as they continued to climb. She listened for shouts or running footsteps coming from behind, but the only sound she heard was the steady clop of Pegasus’s hooves on the paving stones and a baby crying from an upstairs window. The bright afternoon sun filtered through washing strung overhead and made the red plaster walls throw back a pinkish light.

  ‘Where will we take him?’ she asked, as they reached the top of the hill.

  ‘To the Alban Hills, where he can run free,’ said the beggar.

  ‘The Alban Hills,’ repeated Nubia. The name made her think of cool green pine forests and clear streams.

  ‘We’ll take him tonight.’ The beggar mopped his forehead with a handkerchief.

  ‘Can we not take him there now?’

  ‘If we take him out of Rome in broad daylight, someone might recognise his quality. If we wait until after dark, nobody will notice him. Meanwhile, I know an empty townhouse just up ahead where we can keep him until it’s safe to move him.’

  ‘An empty townhouse?’

  ‘Yes. Sometimes when a homeowner dies, his property is disputed by the relatives. None of them are allowed to live there until the case is settled. There’s a house like that up here on the Aventine.’ He chuckled. ‘I’m just looking after it until the judge makes his ruling.’

  Nubia nodded. So this was the Aventine, the hill that overlooked the Circus.

  As if in confirmation, a trumpet blared off to her left, and she heard the roar of two hundred and fifty thousand voices. The next race had started. Without Pegasus.